


Wilted Carnation

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Drug Use, F/M, Fear of Coming Out, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Illness, M/M, Past Abuse, Pining, spousal death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Watson's marriage, Holmes reveals the depth of his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wilted Carnation

**Author's Note:**

> I make brief reference to Oscar Wilde of whom Watson is not a fan. While I love Wilde's writings, it can't be denied that suing someone for liable when what they are saying is 100% true, is a foolish plan. If that will bug you, skip this piece.
> 
> This piece appeared out of nowhere and wasn't what I meant to be writing today. Hopefully you will enjoy it. Thanks to Mer (janto321) and Tiger (tiger_in_the_flight_deck) for betaing

“What think you, Watson?“ Holmes was reclining on the sofa clutching the day’s paper in his hand and called out as I walked in the door. “If I don a cape and swan about with a green carnation at my breast, would I find a like minded companion for once, since you have abandoned me for a wife?”

I bristled at the reference to that pompous preening peacock, whose vanity and self-absorption had made life so much harder for those merely trying to live in peace.

Holmes’ eyes were glassy and he stared through me rather than meeting my gaze. Combined with the rapidity of his speech, I knew what that meant and heaved a sigh. At least this appeared to be his habit which ran out its course swiftly. He would be sober enough soon for us to deal with whatever business had caused him to send for me. Little did I know then that he had solved the case quite handily between the time he sent his telegram and I arrived, and the only business we were to settle was between ourselves. 

“How can you say such things, even in jest?” I said dismissively as I hung up my coat, but as I looked back at him, I saw something in him shrink back, as though meeting with the disapproval of his father. 

Although we’ve never spoken of it, I have learned something in Holmes’ company these many years and even I could tell that his father was much like my own, albeit without even the excuse of drink. Until this moment I had only speculated on the matters that engendered such abuse in his household. There is never an excuse, although occasionally one can ferret out a cause, the thing which makes one such brute more likely than another to lash out, and I feared in this moment that I knew what that had been for my dear companion.

My eyes widened. “You’re nearly serious aren’t you?” I crossed to him and murmured, “I’m sorry,” unsure myself whether I meant for snapping or for getting married, or even just sympathy for how he was feeling. I truly had no idea he would be so affected by my taking a wife. He had always seemed to be disinterested in any romantic or carnal pursuits. Perhaps I had been a fool.

My eyes fell on the table, taking in the hateful morocco case, tourniquet, gleaming glass vials, and syringe strewn amongst various papers. As if I needed further proof of his state. “I have been a fool, my dear Holmes, but so have you. Now, of all times, you decide to bring this fact to my attention? That a ‘green carnation’ might be apropos in your seeking out a companion?”

He blinked owlishly up at me.”The fairer sex have always been _your_ area. I made no secret of that.”

“And yet you never let on that anyone else was,” I shot back rather sharply, too irritated with his timing and his self medication to moderate my tone. "Holmes I had needs, needs Mary gladly fulfills."

He glowered at me and sank lower into the sofa, his melancholy repose growing more dramatic. I turned my back on him long enough to pour out a finger of brandy, hesitating only a moment before adding a second.

Taking a bracing measure, I sat in my chair by the hearth and met his eyes. "I am here whenever you call, however you need me. If you asked more of me, I would be loath not to give it. But I have made my vows and damn it all Holmes, you have let me. You sat there and watched, without a word against it." Tears pricked my eyes, but I continued unabated, "I have lived with you, cared for you, worked beside you, yearned for you, and grieved for you. Not once have you taken my advice, even on subjects where my training and experience outshine your own, but please, heed me in this matter. For now, do not ask more of me. My heart cannot take it.”

Holmes looked up at me, his eyes had lost the glassy quality, though they were now alight with rare emotion.

As I studied his face, I thought of all the times we touched, his chest to my back as he looked over my shoulder to read, his arm tucked warmly into mine as we walked to the theatre, his cold hands in mine as I warmed them by the fire when he had stayed out too late in the chill night air doing his investigating. I had not dared to take them as a sign of anything but our close friendship. I set aside my tumbler and went to him then, drawing him into such an embrace as I could allow myself with things as they were. How long we held each other I could not say, but the sky grew dark outside the windows. 

At last, I managed “I’m sorry, my dear. I never realized... or I would not have quit these rooms with you for all the world.”

With a great weight in my heart, I left Baker Street that night for my own lodgings. 

 

Neither of us had known then, but my Mary was already ill. Within the week, she began to show signs. When first she expressed feeling weak and overtired, I put her to bed and a part of me had hoped it was the the beginning of something beautiful for us both, however, that was not to be. She soon grew more ill with fever and chills. It appeared to be a terrible bout with influenza, as such things often begin, but when the coughing began, complete with telltale blood upon her handkerchief, we both knew what had come upon her. In the end there was nothing to do but keep her comfortable. 

In the years since, Holmes and I have rarely spoken of my unwitting betrayal in taking a wife nor of the great hiatus, which Holmes foolishly supposed would in not effect me so deeply. We had both greatly underestimated the other's affections, but that will never happen again.

Since my Mary passed, I have taken up my familiar lodgings at Baker Street and will never leave them again unless it is feet first or to retire to the country someday with Holmes at my side. He talks at times of keeping bees and I should like the taste of fresh honey, most especially if fed to me by his own hand.


End file.
